A Girl and Her Samurai
by L.C. Li
Summary: [Complete] A samurai never breaks his vow. Cykesquill.


**A GIRL AND HER SAMURAI**

I.

At first, he thinks that Athena is a quiet, softspoken child who keeps to herself and stays within the confines of her own mind.

He is scouring over a pile of papers with Metis, thoroughly engaged in the merits of analytical psychology, when he feels a gentle tug on his sleeve. He turns, ready to rebuke whoever dared disturb him in the midst of his work—but when he is met with a pair of large, crystal eyes, he finds every contrary word dying on the tip of his tongue.

"...Hello, Athena," he says, uncertain.

She stares at the floor, fiddling with the large headphones that clamp around her ears. They must make her head ache, he muses with a pang of uncharacteristic sympathy.

She shuffles for a moment, then pushes her headphones off of her head. They land on the floor with a clatter. She winces, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Athena!" Metis says sternly. "Put your headphones back on."

Athena reaches out a shaking palm and touches Simon's forehead, her eyes screwed shut. Simon glances at Metis, a questioning tilt to his brow.

"...Why did that man do that?" Athena asks presently, withdrawing her hand.

He frowns, absently touching his forehead. "Who did what?"

"I see it in your head," Athena says plainly. "He told you that he raped the woman and then killed her. But he didn't tell you why."

Aghast, Simon whips to Metis, who only looks pained.

"How does this little girl know about—?!"

"She... is sensitive," Metis says wearily, placing her pencil down.

"To emotions, you said!"

"She gathers images as well." Metis stoops to the ground and fixes the headphones over Athena's ears. Athena winces in pain. "She... she is unable to control her power at the moment, and..."

"A child like her should not know these things!"

Metis sighs, and Simon can see the lines in her forehead and the shadow in her eyes. "She can't help it. When she is in the streets... she sees everything in people's minds. Dishonesty. Perversion. Murder, rape, terrorism, anything and everything that people even dare to imagine."

"It would be better to die than to suffer such a terrible curse!"

Athena shrinks back, and Simon struggles to control his tone.

"I... I am only worried about her."

"I understand." A small smile tugs at Metis's lips. "Maybe... maybe you can help her."

He would not refuse. A vow to his liege applies to their offspring.

"If it is within my power, I will protect her," he says.

"Good." Metis gives a light wink. "Well—the data is processing at the moment, so why don't you play dolls with Athena?"

He balks. "Dolls?"

"Oh? Already re-thinking your vow of allegiance?"

"B-but d-dolls?!"

"Princesses. Unicorns." A dark smirk passes over her face. "Unless you would rather play detectives, which would may plant some disturbing images..."

...He should have known better than to take up arms against a psychology specialist.

"...Who is her favorite?"

"Atlantica or Crystal Colette would be a good place to start," Metis says cheerily. "Don't mention the Pink Princess, though. She doesn't like the Pink Princess."

He barely manages to suppress a long groan as Athena excitedly drags him to the corner of the laboratory, where princess figurines pile in a large bin. She gives him Tina Treppace and he hosts a tea party with a collection of heart-engraved dishes.

And Simon Blackquill, the fearsome, up-and-coming prosecutor, is suddenly reduced to a babysitter.

::-::

II.

Perhaps Simon Blackquill is only imagining things, but it seems that in the space of only a few months, Athena's daily word count has tripled and her smile is no longer a rare occurrence. Even his sister—self-proclaimed 'kid-hater'—seems to notice this change.

"Either you've got her wound around your pinky, or vice versa," she says flatly. "I'm thinking of calling you two Thing #1 and Thing #2."

He is about to open his mouth to vehemently protest when a plaintive mewl comes from a corner in the lab.

"Simon, I'm hungry. Can we get some snacks?"

Simon immediately whips to Athena, a gentle smile on his face.

"I don't see why not."

"Yay! You're the best, Simon!"

He turns back to Aura and finds her dark eyebrow raised in a high arch.

"Well. I think I know who's on whose pinky now."

"Shut up."

"If I act like her, will you buy me snacks?"

"Please don't."

"Oh Simon~ won't you buy me a donut~"

Gross. He sends her a disdainful glance as Athena excitedly pulls him out the door. She only returns it with a hearty laugh.

::-::

III.

Athena is 11 and he is 21 when_ it_ happens.

She has constantly boasted of him to her friend Juniper—_Simon is nice, Simon is smart, Simon passed the bar exam early and he's a prosecutor, a real prosecutor, isn't he so cool, Junie_—but when he walks into that room and sees Athena splattered in the brilliant scarlet of her mother's blood, the only thing he can think is_ she did it. She killed Metis._

He is not sure what he finds more horrifying; the fact that his mentor has been killed, or the fact that the perpetrator is none other than her very own daughter, or the fact that Athena found it _necessary_ to kill her own mother.

They are a swirling vortex of thoughts that he has no time to entertain. Through the mess of sheer panic, he is able to pluck some semblance of rational thought and quickly disassembles Ponco, stuffs its limbs in the nearest carrying case, sweeps the bewildered Athena in one arm, and strides down the hall, mindful of the overhead camera capturing his every move.

The trial is short. So is his sentence, because it will end with death.

He has no concern of the length of his life, however; merely the length of his liege's. Such is the fate of a samurai.

Metis does not take kindly to this. She storms into the detention center right after the trial, every muscle taut against the glass partition between them.

"I know it wasn't you, Simon. I know it was the brat."

He sneers for the camera.

"Oh? Say that to Metis's blood on my hands."

Aura Blackquill pounds her fist at the glass partition. It gives a dull _thud_.

"Don't play your little games, Simon! You wouldn't take Metis from me!"

His sneer darkens.

"You are remarkably naive, Aura. It seems your brain is duller than I first thought."

"You know," Aura snarled. "You know what she meant to me."

"And what she meant to Athena," Simon says coolly, "but did that stop me?" He lifts his shackles tellingly.

She straightens, her flaming eyes setting into cold orbs.

"I see you're beyond reason," she spits. "Fine. I'll see to it that you'll have no obstacles between here and the executing gun."

She strides away. He calls out one last jab.

"How very thoughtful of you."

He knows she hears it, but she doesn't acknowledge it. The door slams and he is ushered back into his cell.

::-::

IV.

A samurai is meant to protect his master's body, and in return, his master protects the samurai's livelihood.

Seven years ago, Athena was unable to fulfill this duty. But now, with Widget's slight weight lying warm against her neck and her two mentors by her side, she feels unstoppable.

It's finally time to atone for her past.

Years of all-nighters, of twenty units, of tutoring and extra reading and studying abroad—it has all brought her to this moment. The reborn Athena Cykes, no longer a frail wallflower, but a lively, shining star, stands erect with the sword of Evidence in one hand and the shield of Bluffing in the other.

As a lady is to defend her knights, so shall she defend Simon Blackquill... even if it means her own indictment.

::-::

V.

The trial is won. The truth is discovered. The samurai and his liege walk free.

After seven years in the cold, dank confines of his cell, it feels surreal to Simon. Instead of walking to his death, he is walking to his freedom.

Throughout large celebration dinner after the trial, he is silent and overwhelmed, unsure of how to process this turn of events. He had fully been expecting to die—to see the end of his short but honorable life. And yet, here he sits, platters of extravagant food laid out before him, their tantalizing scents the only sign of their reality.

"Um, hate to break it to you, Simon, but you can't digest food by staring at it."

Athena reaches over, deftly slices off a piece of his steak, and sticks it towards his face.

"Say ahh!"

His eyebrow furrows. This is another conundrum; this bright, confident young woman is miles apart from the reserved child with whom he had once played dolls. It isn't a bad change; merely a strange one, and he is still attempting to discern his mode of conduct around her.

Then he feels a sudden, sharp _pinch_ on his forearm.

"Gyah!"

A piece of steak is tossed into his open mouth. Athena winks at him.

"There ya go. Eat up. Prison food hardly merits a five-star rating, after all. I'm sure you've got a lot to catch up on."

He stares at her in disbelief until he actually closes his mouth and begins to chew. The ensuing explosion of magnificent flavor almost overpowers his taste buds. Suddenly, he realizes that his stomach feels _quite_ empty and proceeds to wolf his food down like an uncivilized hawk.

...No offense to Taka.

Athena surveys him with a giggle. Seeing the sparkle in her eyes and the lift of her smile brings a very foreign feeling to Simon; he feels a warm, nervous tingle in the pit of his stomach.

He passes it off as hunger and continues to eat.

Perhaps he should have paid it more heed.

::-::

VI.

For all his prowess in analyzing legal matters and psychological tendencies, Simon Blackquill is remarkably inept at analyzing his own heart.

He spends months in torment as the feeling grows and develops, turning into an intrusive, churning twist in his stomach that almost knocks him over with its force whenever he sees something _remotely_ orange.

At Aura's recommendation, he sees a doctor. The doctor gives him pills. He takes them and the feeling doesn't go away.

For a few months, he only takes on lawsuits against hospitals.

::-::

VII.

When the flurry of reentering civilization has finally settled down, and Simon Blackquill has remembered everything to do with owning property, paying taxes, and using credit cards, Athena proposes that they have a celebration dinner.

What he _doesn't_ expect is for this dinner to only have two attendees. Or for it to be at Athena's apartment and involve her cooking.

The feeling comes again and he is struck with a sudden desire to run away from that unassuming little apartment as fast as his body will allow—but it is ridiculous, a samurai never runs, a samurai never—

"BOO!"

"Gyack!"

Athena giggles, nudging his side with her elbow.

"Bit jumpy there, Simon? Don't worry, my apartment doesn't bite."

He lets his customary dark glower take over his face.

"I was thinking no such thing."

"Well, I don't need Widget to tell that you're about as antsy as a deer on a hunting ground." She strides ahead of him, gesturing to the large sofa by the TV. "Come on. Relax a little! You just finished a case and all."

Perhaps it would do him some good. He sits down, stiffly.

"Wow, you really need to relax." Athena pushes at his shoulders until he's slack against the sofa, but at her touch, he feels an electric tingle sizzle up his spine. His breath catches and his heart throbs painfully.

Athena seems to sense this; her eyes widen and she frowns in concern.

"What... what was that?" she murmurs.

"I don't take your meaning."

"Your emotions just spiked out of control." She narrows her eyes, examining him closely. He feels like a bug beneath a telescope. "Okay, Simon, time to tell me what's bothering you."

"Nothing."

She drifts closer; he catches a slight fragrance of citrus and sugar and his heart thumps traitorously beneath his chest.

"Athena. Stop it."

"Stop what?" she asks.

"Stop—whatever you're doing." Raising his stress levels. Clouding his mind. Making his body malfunction in peculiar ways. Perhaps—perhaps his mind holds some subconscious trauma against her? But what could it be? The weight from seven years ago has been lifted...

She flashes a cheeky grin. "Sorry. Occupational hazard. Can't help but analyze your feelings, you know."

He only huffs.

"Gee, someone didn't get his morning coffee," Athena teases. "Shall I make you a blend?"

"No," he says.

Athena rolls her eyes. "Fine. Sit tight and do some breathing exercises while I check up on the food, Mr. Grumpy-Pants."

"I'm not grumpy," he barks as Athena dashes to the kitchen.

...Perhaps some breathing exercises would be advantageous. He is remarkably worked up, and he doesn't even know why. All he knows is that he is taking it out on Athena, which reflects poorly on both his character and his vow.

It is simply unacceptable. So Simon forces his muscles to relax as he processes his emotions, one step at a time.

...

Athena Cykes considers herself a master of three things: analytical psychology, legal matters, and making spaghetti. (The first two are debatable.)

In her books, spaghetti is not to be underestimated. It is delicious, nutritious, easy, fast, and cheap—a rare combination to come by. Most foods pale in comparison to spaghetti. Besides, it almost matches her hair color! ...Almost.

She hears Simon grumbling indiscernibly in the adjacent room and allows herself a fond smile. If she were being completely honest with herself, she might have an eensy, teensy—okay, maybe _giant_—crush on Simon Blackquill. She can't really help it; his loyalty and nobility to her mother touches every crevice of her heart. It's a tale of honor that brings tears to her eyes—! Oh, no, a tear landed in the sauce. Well, a little extra salt never hurt anyone.

Seven years in prison might have hardened him and brought out his grumpy side, but that only gives her more of an excuse to brighten his day. After all, he cared for her so much when she was a child; it's only natural that she pays him back.

When she enters the living room a few minutes later, two platters of steaming spaghetti in her hands, Simon is staring at something on his phone, aghast.

"What?" she prompts, setting one of the plates in front of him. "Favorite team lost?"

He hurriedly switches his phone off and stuffs it in his pocket, fixing her with an intense gaze. She feels a light flush take to her cheeks and hurriedly starts eating.

"...Athena."

His deep, melodic voice resonates in every bone in her body, pushing her heart into overdrive.

"Y-yes?"

"Athena," he repeats, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Um, yes, that's my name?"

He stares at her for a moment more, then turns his attention to her spaghetti. "...I don't understand."

"Uhh, neither do I. What are you doing, exactly?"

"Help me understand, Athena." He straightens, mouth pulled into a grim smile. "I want you to release your power."

"You—what?"

"You can be just as sensitive to emotions and images as you were before, right? You simply have a better hold on when to activate that power or not."

She purses her lips. "I'm not doing that! That's an invasion of privacy!"

"It's hardly an invasion. I am inviting you."

She lowers her eyes. "But..."

"Please, Athena."

His request sounds genuine. He really wants to be analyzed.

In that case...

She bites her lip, closes her eyes... and slowly, gingerly, begins to lower the barricade that dulls her sensitivity.

It's like breaking a dam. At first, it obeys, gradually acclimatizing her senses to the surroundings. Then, it suddenly shatters, and she's overwhelmed by a gut-punching flood of emotions—confusion, distress, affection, _desire_. She squirms through the mess, trying to process the tangle of conflict—

Images break into her head. Thunderclouds. Tangled yarn. Drowsy vipers and isolated weeds. She instantly recognizes these as abstract signs; he has been struggling with this for some time, and has felt alone and bewildered because of it.

She slams the barricade back into place, left reeling by this turn of events. Simon—Simon Blackquill—has feelings for _her_? She thought that he saw her as a child. How... how did this develop...?

The sheer strength of his feelings leaves her hands shaking. She felt it—his joy at seeing her smile, his fierce protectiveness at seeing her distressed, his—his desire to hold her, kiss her—

How...?

"...Athena?"

She almost jumps, her nerves scrambled and fraying.

"Uh, hi, Simon."

He frowns. "Was it that terrible?"

Her mind has run completely blank. She can't think of a single thing to say.

"Uh..."

Great. How remarkably eloquent. Move aside, Willy Shakespeare.

He grimaces. "I apologize. I had no intention of exposing you to anything distressing."

How can she tell him what she just sensed?_ Hey, Simon Blackquill! You're in love with me! Congratulations!_

...Good heavens. He's in love with her. Simon Blackquill, her crush, her friend, her samurai—is in love with her.

Dizziness presses between her temples—a blurring, terrifying mixture of joy, uncertainty, disbelief. How on earth is she supposed to react to this? She was fully expecting to harbor her childish one-sided crush by herself, in secret, for however long it decided to run its course—but suddenly, everything is being pushed into the limelight.

"Athena."

Her head jerks up and she meets his piercing gaze.

"I hope you understand."

Suddenly, the tips of his fingers are ghosting over her cheek and lifting her chin. His eyes search her face, seemingly looking for permission to... to do what?

Her mind is blurry and her head is backwards and she has no idea what is going on—but she goes with her gut and closes her eyes, catching the deep scent of earth and fresh paper and clean linen—he seems to be leaning in—

She feels a firm press of calloused lips against hers; chaste, yet burning with passion; a kiss of fealty. She is barely able to register this in her mind before he pulls away, evaluating her with a gentle smile.

For a moment, she is lost in a whirlpool of confusion—_what just happened_—and then everything clicks together.

"You—you tricky little—!"

He blinks innocently. It is not a fitting look for Prosecutor Simon Blackquill. "What?"

She glares heatedly at him. "You didn't need me to analyze you! You knew _exactly_ how you felt!" She presses her lips together. "You just—you just were too lazy to say it, so you had me read your emotions!"

His expressions suddenly stills and he grips her hand, staring keenly at her.

"Do not misunderstand me, Athena," he says, his voice low. "I had you read my emotions only because I was not certain you would believe them otherwise."

She freezes at this. He... he's probably right. No matter how fervent his confession, she would've probably passed it off as a joke. She would never believe that he had legitimate feelings for her.

"I scarcely could believe it myself," Simon continues. "That I had the audacity to fall for the lady I had sworn to serve; a creature bright and courageous beyond compare."

She blushes a very dark shade of red. His tongue, refined from years in the courtroom, was very skilled indeed.

"But—didn't you think of me as a kid?"

His eyes darken. "You never had the privilege to be one."

He must be referring to her power. Dark images had tortured her dreams since she could remember. He had witnessed several episodes of night terrors when she was a child.

"Besides..." He brushes his fingers over her jaw. "I can hardly compare you to your self of seven years past. You have blossomed into a lovely maiden."

She's pretty sure she resembles a tomato at this point. "Uh... thanks."

He laughs—deep, booming, reverberant—and suddenly turns to her spaghetti, scooping it into his mouth with great fervor.

"Pardon," he says. "Now that my nerves have settled, I find myself quite inclined to eat."

She giggles at this. It starts as a small, girlish little thing, but shortly explodes into a hearty, tear-inducing gale of laughter.

_Sacrebleu._ She can't believe this. All of this.

::-::

VIII.

He pledges his sword. She pledges her troth.

Taka is the ring-bearer. Juniper is the maid of honor; Apollo, the best man. Phoenix acts as the bride's father. Trucy is the flower girl (she wouldn't have it any other way—she enjoys tossing petals from her magical panties far too much).

Athena trips on the way down the aisle, and in the space of half a second, Simon has traveled from the altar to her side. Old habits die hard, even to samurai.

They vow to protect each other; he, her body, and she, his heart.

There was never a stranger pair in physical appearance, but neither person nor animal leaves the hall without shedding a tear.

::-::

IX.

Athena Blackquill and Simon Blackquill are equally feared in the courtroom, for both pursue the truth with unmatched passion. Some say that their arguments are fiery enough to liken to armed duels. Others say that they take on the image of two warriors, side-by-side, cutting down any falsehoods that dare to stand before their combined might.

Their relationship is one of honor and loyalty and love that surpasses the archaic standard after which it is modeled: a lady bringing blessing unto her samurai, who protects her with his tongue just as equally as his sword.

**FIN**

* * *

_**(A/N: And that is all. If you enjoyed the ride, I ask you to consider a review; even a few words would brighten my day.)**_


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